


this is me trying (at least i'm trying)

by syndicates



Category: Misfits (TV 2009)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet Ending, Bonding, Dealing With Trauma, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Nathan Young Has Feelings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Sibling Bonding, i genuinely don't know what to tag here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28041588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syndicates/pseuds/syndicates
Summary: "Then, now that's out of the way, why are you here?" Nathan asks, again."To bail your arse out," The scruffy probation worker states plainly, “...and I, for one, think you should let him.”"I'm here to offer you a place to live, Nathan." Mike Young says, his voice probably more forceful than he intended, "A place to live, with me.""Oh."(Or: Nathan Young finally has to deal with some of his problems.)
Relationships: Mike Young & Nathan Young, Simon Bellamy/Nathan Young
Comments: 11
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! originally, when my sister, [melonfucker69](https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonfucker69/pseuds/melonfucker69) told me she was writing simon fanfic, i told her i "wanted to write nathan but didn't have enough material." that turned out to be a lie
> 
> this is me simply ✨ignoring✨the second half of season two and vegas baby, hope that's chill

"What's with _you_?"

In the stillness of the estate, the questioning lilt in Kelly's voice rises like a crack of thunder. Or a gunshot. Unfortunately, Nathan knew all too well about both, and he reckons either would be an appropriate descriptor here.

"Oh, you know," He starts, his words riding a scoff, "Just absolutely knackered from a night of shagging a bunch of— _Hey_!"

Nathan staggers forward, following the recoil of Kelly's open palm to the back of his head.

" _God_ , I'm trying to be serious here, Nathan!" She returns, stopping in her tracks. Her voice softens slightly, and Nathan feels an uncomfortable knot forming in his stomach.

"I know you went out for a meal with your Dad last night," she starts, apparently deciding to cut straight through the bullshit. Nathan wishes she hadn't, but he also finds that he was too tired to do much about it.

"...Did it not go well?" She finishes, her voice earnest. 

He lets out a choked, breathy, open-mouthed laugh at that. Nathan wishes he could take a sharp edge of a cola can and cut the sloppily eye-lined pity that dripped from Kelly's well-meaning words. His eyebrows furrow, and his lips pull into a taut line as he turns his face down to the grey pavement.

"It was _fine_." He concedes, knowing full well that lying would be a fruitless endeavor. His gaze turns completely away from where he was looking, focusing instead on the community center in the distance.

"…Completely normal," He murmurs, mostly to himself, finding reporting _this_ to be harder than if his _daddy deares_ t had stripped down like a pedophile in a back alley and tried to shag a five-year-old.

What Nathan senses in Kelly's belabored silence is familiar disbelief, but given its familiarity, Nathan shrugs it off as quickly as a jacket. 

His absent gaze catches on a shock of orange in the otherwise dull cityscape, and his hand rises to shield his narrowing eyes from the chilly wind. He squints to focus on the owner of the jumpsuit, trying to work out who was on duty.

" _Barry!_ " Nathan calls over the silence, frowning and allowing his arms to drop loosely at his sides as he gets no response.

"Nathan, what did I say about treating _Simon_ —" Kelly's words die in her throat as he looks back up to find Nathan peeling halfway down the promenade.

Nathan's thin trainers dodge a few expected splotches of paint, cans, what have you, to find him next to Simon's hunched over body. Nathan rests his hands on his lower back, leaning back and letting out a small vocalization as he stretches backward. He peers down to Simon, who, with headphones in and looking intently at the rough, weather-worn bench he was painting, had the _audacity_ not to notice Nathan's presence.

A mischievous smile curves onto Nathan's features, and he squats down next to him. Nathan wraps one arm around his lifted knees, reaching out the other to hook onto the nearest headphone wire. Nathan gives it a slight tug and leans in, whispering into Simon's ear: " _Hey._ "

Simon startles, hands flicking up defensively. His horror-stricken eyes follow the device as it falls out of his hand to clatter on the ground before meeting Nathan’s again, "What… What are you…" 

Nathan chuckles with a smug sense of satisfaction, " _What am I doing?_ " He asks rhetorically to the air, watching Kelly's ponytail's sideways motion out of the corner of his eye as she crosses her arms and shakes her head as she walks past them. 

"Well, _my dear boy_ , I'm reintroducing you back into the world of the living!" 

Nathan flashes a toothy grin, and in a moment, he's standing again, walking around Simon to scoop his iPod from the ground. He's flipping the loose earbuds in a circle, catching them on his fingers as they loop around, theatrical concern painting his expressive features.

"If you've always got your head jumbled with—" Nathan pauses a beat, glancing down at the screen, "…this _depressing_ shit, then what brain space will you have left to think about new and inventive ways to _woo_ and _pleasure_ the birds and slags of the world?"

"…It helps me focus," Simon says. 

Nathan crooks a dark eyebrow and scoffs, "I admire the effort, _really,_ truly showing character growth and development!" He says, taking on a flippant and exaggerated proper accent. "You're shaping up to be a model member of society!" 

Nathan sits on the bench's unpainted side, flicking through the iPod as he absently fishes through his pockets for a joint and lighter he _knew_ he’d stashed there.

"Nothing is going on at the center today," Simon reports, his frown deepening as his eyes follow the device in Nathan's hand.

"No visitors today, eh?" Nathan asks, his voice muffled by the joint he positions in the corner of his mouth. He doesn't speak again until he gets it lit and takes a short drag, "Well, that's good! If we're lucky, that means we won't add to our body count!"

Another drag, and Nathan's gaze meanders back to the promenade, "…Have you seen Alisha and Curtis today?"

Simon shakes his head. Negative.

"Eh, they're probably off fake shaggin' somewhere," Nathan responds, motioning wanking off weakly by his crotch. 

" _Ew_ ," Simon responds, his face creasing in on itself.

"Tell me about it!" Another breathy laugh punctuated his response to Simon's unfiltered reaction, "They've been doing it so often that it's _boring_ to walk in on them now. Plus, the absolute _twats_ have gotten smarter and started locking the storage unit… That's where I keep my… if they so much as get a splatter of their spunk on…." His voice drifts off as he exhales a plume of smoke.

Nathan doesn't notice the crease between Simon's eyebrows deepen in thought until he murmurs, "…Where were you? I thought you lived here." Cutting off Nathan's rambling, Simon's voice is low and severe in its questioning.

Nathan's face slackens with surprise as his mind processes the question. Still, the characteristic ridges between his eyebrows return as he looks forward, leaving the joint between his lips for another beat.

Thankfully, Nathan was well-versed in the art of deflection.

"Out on the town!" A smile plasters to his face and Nathan keeps his head-trained forward, just-in-case his guise wasn't as fool-proof as it once was. "Just because I live here… _temporarily_ ," He adds, taking a moment of emphasis to point at Simon, "doesn't mean I don't have beds all across the estate!"

He captures his bottom lip between his teeth and motions sloppy humping to punctuate his point.

"What, are you _worried_ about me, Barry?" He asks, his voice pitching up a couple of octaves, "That's _so_ sweet!"

"…No!" Simon seems to recoil at the thought, his features tensing at being called _Barry_. Seizing the moment that he has Nathan’s attention, Simon says with some force, “…can I have my iPod back?”

"Oh?" Nathan returns, the crooked smirk finding a more permanent home on his features. “What was that?”

“Nathan, can I have my iPod back?” Simon sternly repeats, lost gaze finding Nathan’s.

"Ex _squeeze_ me?" Nathan allows the device to fall from its sturdy position in his palm to dangling precariously by his pointer finger and thumb, dangling it over the back of the bench in Simon’s face.

"Now, how you bruise me! That's no way to speak to your leading man, now is it?" He sneeringly prods, jutting out his bottom lip in all-too-fake hurt, leaning forward to begin to close the distance between himself and Simon.

“ _You’re_ not my—“

Nathan slyly slips the device back into his breast pocket, and he plants a swift kiss on the tip of Simon's nose.

"Well, thank you, Barry, for your service," He goads, the frown warping back into a smug smile mere centimeters away from Simon's skin. "But no." 

Nathan rises from the bench, stubs out the joint's remains against the pavement, and turns on his heels to start toward the community center.

He blows past the unruffled form of the second (third?) probation worke, who doesn't even turn around to watch Nathan disappear behind him. Instead, he merely heaves a heavy sigh, eyes flicking to his clipboard before glancing back up at Simon.

In the dimly lit hallway of the community center, Nathan slows to a stop, and his lips part in a breathless smile. He allows his breathing a moment to regulate, and soon he's fixated on the vending machine. He frowns, gives it a swift, knowing kick to the bottom, and retrieves the soda that pops out.

When he pops the can open, the soda spatters, but he brings the fizzy drink to his lips as he makes his way to the locker room, fingers already at work unbuttoning the button down he was wearing.

" _Oi_ , Nathan," Curtis's voice is the first that Nathan hears, and he removes the drink from his lips to acknowledge, peering toward him and Alisha standing at the far end of the locker room.

"….Wash the shirt before returning it, yeah?" Curtis says, after a beat, pointing at the white splotches that colored the backside.

Nathan scoffs as he walks past them to his locker, putting the can on top and the iPod on the shelf within. He glances around his shoulder theatrically to peer at the wet paint, frowning.

"Sure thing," He says, peeling the named shirt off and slipping on one of his own, sliding his feet into the bottom of the orange jumpsuit. "And I _will_." He asserts, pointing sternly to the pair, "A few days ago, I figured out how to do my laundry here for _free_!" 

When Alisha raises a disgusted eyebrow and begins to comment about the implication that he hadn't done laundry since he's lived in the community center, Nathan starts: " _Hey_ ,” He closes the door to the locker and stands with his arm resting on it, "I'll have you know that my mom's allowed me to use the laundry back home a couple of times—"

Alisha rolls her eyes, arms crossing over her chest as she glances past Nathan to the entrance of the locker room. Nathan turns on the balls of his feet to follow her gaze, landing on Simon’s rigid form lingering in the doorframe.

“Is everything alright, Simon?” Alisha asks, frowning as she glances from Simon to where he was looking, “Why’re you looking at Nathan like that?”

“He has my iPod,” Simon says in an even tone, though his gaze remains unchanged.

"Is that all?" Curtis takes a few steps away from Alisha's side to close the distance between himself and Nathan. He extends a hand, glancing from it to Nathan expectantly. "Come on, man. Leave him alone. He ain't done nothin' to you—"

Nathan scoffs at his open palm, his face returning to the exaggerated hurt that probably characterized too much of his face contortions. But, after a beat, he does turn to retrieve the device from his locker and walks to put it face down in Simon's palm. 

Simon's posture seems to relax some as he slips the iPod back into his jumpsuit's breast pocket and turns to focus on his locker.

"Fuck, _fine_ ," Nathan says, lifting his hands in fake defensiveness as he walks back to his locker, "I was trying to expand his horizons—"

Nathan's hand, meeting his locker, presses it to close with a slam as he maneuvers away from it, turning on his heels to come face-to-chest with the probation worker.

"You're Nathan Young, right?"

The words are long and drawled, and Nathan can hear, even without looking, the worker’s forefinger and thumb pressing against the bridge of his nose. Nathan looks him up and down and takes a step back, frowning as his hands settle at his hips.

"Who's askin'?"

"Some guy who says he's your father is in the office," He says, without an ounce of humor, "Go or don't go; I don't care." 

Nathan's eyebrows knit together, and he can hear the probation worker dully continue droning to the rest as Nathan presses past him in the narrow aisle between the rows of lockers.

"Now, for the rest of you," He's pointing across them, pointing a finger toward Simon, raising an eyebrow, "We'll be finishing painting the benches outside…" 

* * *

Part of Nathan thought that when he arrived at the dimly-lit office, he'd come face to face with one of the adult men through his life that had tried to slot themselves into the father role in his life. If asked, he would've said he'd gone for the laugh, for the banter of it all, but he finds he’s just stood there, humorlessly face to face with his one and only biological dad.

"…Nathan," His father starts, his eyebrows knitting as he gets to read the back of his jumpsuit as Nathan turns around as if there was another he could be talking to (Nathan wonders if he'd prefer that).

Mike Young pulls a hand through his scruffy hair, and both father and son fall silent, biting back thinly-veiled snide remarks. For Nathan's part, he stays planted, his face grave as he eventually returns Mike's gaze.

"What do you want?" Nathan tries, "Why are you here?"

Nathan's father frowns, eyes darting around like a man who'd forgotten his line. "Your mother told me to come," Nathan's eyes roll, and he's already nearly halfway out the door, "She said she was worried about you…" Mike flips his hand, clearly searching for the words, "not having a permanent place to stay, and all."

"I'll have you…" Nathan stops, pointing at Mike's chest, " _both_ know: _I'm fine._ "

Nathan can feel his voice rising in aggressiveness, so he stops, resting his chin on the crook of his pointer finger to reset.

"Then, now that's out of the way, why are you here?" Nathan asks, again.

“To bail your arse out," The scruffy probation worker states plainly, “...and I, for one, think you should let him.”

Nathan's father's eyes fall from Nathan and his orange jumpsuit to the gray carpet, either annoyed at the probation worker's interjection or preemptively bracing for Nathan's reaction.

"Ah, _no shit_ ," Nathan spits, his voice raising a couple of octaves as eyes roll and fingers lift into air quotes, "Estranged father offers to help social reject son by making him—" 

"I'm here to offer you a place to live, Nathan." His father says, his voice probably more forceful than he intended, "A place to live, with me."

" _Oh_." Nathan breaths, dumbfounded.

"The state thinks a more stable home would be good for your… rehabilitation," the probation worker fills in, and the sigh in his voice seems to ask: _why do they have to interfere with something so small?_

"Your mother contacted your _former_ probation worker," the guy puts deliberate emphasis on the ' _former'_ bit. Nathan's eyes roll before he could think better of it, but the speaker is undeterred, "…saying something about how a more 'holistic' approach to your rehabilitation would be more helpful… or something."

The explanation seems to do little for father and son, the latter scoffing into his palm.

"And here _I_ was, thinking you were doing it out of the _kindness of your heart_ ," Nathan says, his voice breathy and quiet despite the venom that laced his words, "—should've known it was just some _bullshit_."

Nathan's almost annoyed that he'd already been weighing the implications and whether or not agreeing would be necessitated by the parting wish of his half brother.

Nathan points his thumbs over his shoulder, "Well, if that's all you needed me for, then _thanks, but no thanks_ ," The smile that laces his features is a bit more brittle than usual, but he carries on, "I've got to go and finish serving my sentence then, yeah?"

"Nathan—" His father, rising from his seat, extends a hand to Nathan's shoulder, "Please, just stay and…" There's a moment's pause, as Mike Young calculates the proper words, and probably bites back more than a little venom of his own, "…and listen to me, _goddamn it_ , for a moment."

Nathan frowns at the hand on his shoulder, his hands freezing where they were. He had to fight every instinct in his being that told him to shove his father off, but Nathan's green eyes meet his father's.

"Fine." 

Nathan does shrug off his hand, but Mike allows this much, replacing it at his side and sitting back down on the ratty couch. Nathan remains standing, his hands sliding into the pockets of his jumpsuit.

The probation worker seems to lose interest in the familial drama unfolding by his catalyst and back steps out of the office, the door closing with a solid click.

Nathan's gaze follows the sound momentarily before returning to his father. He says nothing, merely lifting a dark eyebrow.

* * *

When Nathan emerges from the community center just shy of an hour later, he finds he has to shield his eyes from the afternoon sunlight, finally peering through parting clouds.

He frowns as he slowly makes his way back to the group, chewing the inside of his cheek in a weak attempt to distract from his thoughts— they're boisterous, loud things, and he's become all-too-aware of that, especially given his awareness of Kelly's power.

Slipping a stub of a cigarette between his lips, Nathan abandons the endeavor, walking over to the others.

Wordlessly, he scoops up a paintbrush and a can and sits cross-legged on the pavement, getting to work coloring the peeling benches.

" _Right_ , out with it, then." Nathan does notice Kelly's looming shadow casting over him, but still, he doesn't look up at her statement. "You've been off since this mornin'. You didn't forget that I could read your thoughts, yeah?" 

“Like I told you before," Nathan starts, half-heartedly, "I'm just exhausted from shaggin' about all night," He says, his hand languidly pulling the brush across the wood, "—and I've got a killer hangover, so if you could—"

" _Bullshit_ ," Kelly says, more forcibly now, "Why can't ya just be _honest_ with us, Nathan?" 

Nathan considers this and frowns, dropping the brush into the can of paint. “My dad offered to let me live with him,” He says, pursing his lips, “Apparently, my mom asked him to.”

“Well, what did ya say?” Kelly continues, her arms crossing and gum snapping in her mouth.

“I told him to go fuck himself.” Nathan says, a dry chuckle erupting from his throat.

Kelly makes a face that Nathan can’t place, and after a moment of wordless consideration, leaves Nathan alone with the bench and the paint-soaked brush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hot take: if the sex scene between nathan and kelly went on any longer, he probably would have ended up calling her “mom.”
> 
> i'm elsewhere on the internet if you're so inclined to vibe: [twitter](https://twitter.com/PERESTR0IKA)!
> 
> comments are deeply appreciated (and i'll probably cry)-- for once, i have an outline and a ✨direction✨ that i want to take this in, so i'm excited to continue, and i'd love to have you on this ride with me!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have this weird thing where i come to a mental block when it comes to writing second chapters for whatever reason, and this was no exception. i've written each scene here at least twice. but here, i thrust it upon you humbly. 
> 
> (in all seriousness, though, writing and thinking about this fic brings me endless joy, and thank you so much for your kudos and comments that make me feel like i'm not screaming into the void!)

"—Mom?" Nathan murmurs, fighting the heaviness in his limbs as he rolls sideways in a bed. His hands rise to rub the sleep out his eyes, and he's shoving aside a thin blanket to reach for the string to nearby blinds, "Wh… What time is it?"

After a moment of fruitlessly groping for drawstrings that weren't there, the next sound that breaks the silence is a drawled groan as Nathan rolls to his back. Finally, when he succeeds in prying his eyes open, he comes face-to-face with an unfamiliar painted cinder block wall.

Nathan's features contort in confusion as he finally allows himself to sit up, examining the simple wooden single bed he finds himself in, tucked into the corner of an otherwise sparsely furnished living room. The knot in his stomach churns as he glances about, watching the light of the estate cast the otherwise cold environs in its amber warmth.

As he stands, he casts a frown in the direction of the concrete balcony, pushing past a grimy armchair and an outdated television set to slog over to the refrigerator. As his hand rests on the top of the handle, his eyes catch on the hurriedly-flattened tell-tale cardboard remains of flat board furniture, emblazoned with bold Swedish and shoved unceremoniously behind the appliance.

Nathan's eyebrows knit, but he opts to deal with the tangled emotions of _that_ later, and he opens the door to lean down and examine the offerings. Unlike his mother's house or even the community center's kitchen, it was arid with nothing but old takeaway and cheap alcohol.

Nathan eventually settles on a chilled can of beer, and he stands, rolling the can in his palm. Entertained by the beer's sloshing weight, Nathan's finger is notched under the pull tab when his gaze is pulled upward by the sound of a door opening on the far side of the room.

"Nathan?" His name languidly rides his father's voice, punctuated by a crook of the eyebrow that relays the disbelief brought on by the realization of Nathan still being there.

"That's my name," Nathan confirms, pointing to his father with the hand that holds the beer can, "Don't wear it out." He finishes with a half-hearted click of his tongue, opening the can with a fizz. 

Nathan sees the disappointed quirk of his father's eyebrow, but Mike Young seems apt to choose a different battle than stopping his son from drinking. Instead, he takes a few cautious steps forward into the middle of the room, adjusting the rumpled collar of the shirt that draped loosely over his chest. 

"Nathan, you…" Nathan's father seems to be searching for words through a haze of sleep, and abandoning the collar and slipping his hands in his pockets, he seems to settle. "You have community service today, yeah?" 

"Yeah, but after that I have an audience with the Queen in Westminster, so don't wait up." Nathan quips absently, peering over the can to maintain fleeting eye contact.

Mike Young heaves a small sigh but otherwise remains silent, his gaze falling from his son as his arms crossed over his chest. "That's fine, just…" Nathan watches as his father's eye traverses the loft, never once settling, "Don't be out too late, I've work tomorrow." He says, his voice tapering at the end, and Nathan abruptly realizes that he hasn't a clue what his father does for work, "…And do me a favor and lock up when you go, yeah?"

"Yeah, sure thing," Nathan's saying, stepping away from the fridge. His father shoulders past him, mechanically shuffling through its contents and putting this or that in between his lips. 

"By the way," Nathan says, leaning back on his heels and gesturing to the doors at the far side of the room, "Which is the loo?"

* * *

The brisk morning wind cuts through Nathan's wet curls until they're crisply dry, the air biting past to resonate painfully against his ears. An attempt to find his way to the community center finds Nathan wandering through the amber-cast alleys and dips of the estate, absently flicking his lighter open and closed.

While Nathan is certainly too prideful to ask for help, he's more tied to being lost because he forgot his mobile phone in some rapidly glanced-through pile of his belongings back at the community center's loft the night before.

After one or two more failed turns, Nathan slows to lean against a wall and slips a half-burned stub of a cigarette between his lips, only to find he's absently burned through the small amount of lighter fluid left.

" _Shit_ ," Nathan hisses, tossing the lighter over his shoulder with a huff. He spits the fag out in turn, abandoning it in that darkened corner.

He kicks off from the wall, replacing his hands in his pockets, rounding a corner to ascend another staircase. At the top, Nathan finds himself more winded than he'd prefer to admit, frowning at another brick facade of a building he doesn't recognize. He rises to his tiptoes and cranes his neck in an attempt to peer around it in hopes of finding the anchoring human-made lake in the center of the estate, but to no avail.

His gaze catches on some movement in the corner of his eye, and turning quickly, Nathan sees the end of a moving shadow.

" _Oi!_ You, there! I need some help!" He calls after it, using his hands as an amplifier, but neither the shadow nor its owner stops, disappearing around the corner.

"Yeah, okay, _fine!_ I've got somewhere I need to be, too, ya gobshite!" He calls long after it disappears from view, lips tensing into a lopsided frown. "Ignoring when someone talks to you by being all mysterious and disappearing into the shadows is _overdone_ , and I'm getting well tired of it, by the _fucking_ way!" He adds over his shoulder.

In the absence, Nathan feels a pit open in his stomach, and he presses the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. The feeling of something little brushing against his leg jars him back to reality, and Nathan's first instinct is to pull his leg away from the intrusion.

"What the—" He mutters, his eyes dropping to meet the bright eyes of a cat. They hold each other's gaze for a beat, and Nathan glances around the environs before closing the distance between himself and it, squatting down to be more at its level.

"Hey there, are you lost?" Nathan coos, a grin spreading across his face. He extends his hand in the cat's direction, an unappreciated gesture, as the cat bows away with a petulant meow. Nathan frowns, but the cat is calm, turning around to walk away with a sureness in its step. Nathan stands again, and as he does, the cat flicks its gaze back to him, pausing in its stride.

Nathan takes another glance over his shoulders before taking a cautious step forward. Nathan's action seems to appease the cat, who, sated, continues with its stride. Nathan experimentally stops, only to be met with another terse mew, and another step elicits another satisfied hum from the feline. 

Nathan scoffs, his arms spreading on either side of him, a moot performance of cinematic confusion. His frame wilts as he realizes that, _yes,_ this is no one there, and takes one last weary look at the expectant gaze of the feline.

"Fine," he concedes, beginning to close the distance between them, "Lead the way, I guess."

* * *

"Where were you?" Simon's the first person to ask, though Kelly, Alisha, and Curtis all have their questioning gazes fixed on Nathan as he strides into the community center's open main room.

Nathan is fishing his arms through the loose sleeves of his jumpsuit, jostling the cat splayed lazily in his arms. Flushed with a wind-burn, Nathan falls into line with the rest.

"Got a little lost," Nathan admits, and he doesn't see the crease in Simon's brow or the disappointed side-glances from the rest of the group, "But it turns out the estate is quite lovely in the sunrise! Who would've thought?" Nathan says with sincerity that seems even to surprise even him, the cat stabilizing itself in his arms as his hand rises to rest on its head. 

"And what's with the cat?" Alisha asks, her voice lifting with a questioning lilt.

"Found him in the alleys," Nathan informs, the coo returning to his voice as he glances back down to the feline, scratching behind its ear as it purrs into his palm, "No one was around, and it seemed like it wanted me to follow it, so I said ' _fuck it_ ,' and did! Led me back here to you lot, I'd say that's pretty impressive, eh?"

Silence casts on the group, and after a beat, Kelly glances sideways down the line to Nathan and interjects, "How was your first night at ya dad's?"

"Y'know what," Nathan says, "…I don't think this 'solid home' thing is really for me, after all. It's brutal, it's stifling, I feel right claustrophobic, and when you get down to it, I need to be _free!_ Unconstrained!" He finishes the statement with an attempt at a flourish that is abruptly interrupted when he remembers the cat in his arms.

"You can't be serious," Curtis chimes, his gaze fixed forward.

"Of course I am! Look at me!" With his free arm, Nathan gestures down his body to punctuate his point, "A rinky-dink flat can't contain all of _this!_ "

"Isn't that… a tad bit ungrateful of you?" Simon murmurs, and Alisha lets out a startled chuckle before Nathan can even think to respond.

Nathan steps out of line to address him, " _Hey,_ I gave it a fair shake," he insists, "but you know, some people just aren't suited to live together, in the stars and all that—"

"It's been a day," Alisha points out, "How could you know that for sure?"

"He's my dad! My father! Good ol' daddy dearest!" Nathan frantically reiterates, "I think I know the gobshite well enough to know—" 

"And _what,_ " Kelly says, "Are ya planning to live in the community center for the rest of your life, then?"

" _No!_ I—"

The abrupt but familiar sound of the windowed door startles the words off of Nathan's tongue and the cat out of Nathan's arms. He frowns at the air in front of him, shifting his weight from leg to leg as he steps back into line, watching the cat disappear into the shadows. In its place enters the probation worker, walking with languid strides to the middle of the room.

"Right, although the benches are nowhere near done," The probation worker is saying, peering accusingly over his clipboard, "The community center got rented out for a wedding this weekend and…" 

"Who'd want to get married in this slag heap?" Alisha mutters under her breath, bemusedly glancing about the room.

"I don't know," The probation worker says, and Alisha quirks a groomed eyebrow in his direction, "And to be quite frank, I don't give a shit. All I care to know is that this main room has to be clear of everything by tomorrow so that the decorators can get in here."

"—And I'm assuming that's our job, then, yeah?" Curtis finishes.

"Precisely." The guy says with a thin smile, pointing at Curtis with the hand that held the clipboard, the other caught in his collar's upper button, undoing it. "Then, if we're all square, I'll see you lot at six. Just get this done, for your sake and mine, yeah?" His voice tapers off, and he's already turned toward the exit, tucking the clipboard back underneath his arm.

Curtis scoffs at the probation worker's retreating figure, the group scattering behind him.

"Right, well!" Nathan says, after a beat of silence, his hands clapping together as he turns on his worn soles. "I'm going to go get a drink," He proclaims, theatrically pointing to his friends, "Anyone want anything? Yes? No? Fantastic."

"Nathan, you've got to stay and help, y'know—" Kelly's saying, as Nathan follows the probation worker's path out the door, and he calls back an easy, "I'll be right back!" as the door closes behind him. Nathan leans forward to knowingly wink at his friends through the glass before taking long, theatrical strides out of view.

Nathan's posture straightens with ingrained confidence as he curves through the familiar halls of the community center, and he's humming to himself by the time he finds himself at the entrance of the kitchen's liquor pantry at the back of the building. It takes the door's lock clattering in its socket for Nathan to jar out of his routine and a few more violent jostles before he examines the situation further.

Peering past his reflection in the glass, Nathan scoffs at the new, reinforced lock that dangled from the handle and a paper notice that proclaims that the alcohol within is 'Reserved for Private Event.' Nathan swings a swift kick to the metal bottom of the door, muttering curses. 

Nathan abandons the endeavor quickly, and as he rounds the corner to head back to the event hall, he pauses at the sound of chipper voices echoing down the corridor. Instinctually pressing his back against a corner, Nathan peers down the hall to see a pair of silhouettes pacing away from him. 

Nathan hears the tail end of a statement: "—but there's something charming about it, and, more importantly, it's all we can afford, Louise."

The name settles a deep frown in Nathan's brow, and he begins to round the corner, opting to ignore the persistent, ugly feeling in his stomach. But, the volleying voice stops him in his tracks.

"I know, Jeremy," It responds, with a worryingly familiar timbre, "but what if Nathan finds out?"

And just like that, the ugliness residing in Nathan's stomach plasters to his face, and with confident strides, he steps into the middle of the hallway. He extends a finger to point to the people he heard, vitriol just barely contained by his vocal cords, when he realizes they had disappeared, presumably through a door or around a corner, leaving the corridor empty.

Nathan scoffs at the air, his eyebrows creasing as he glances down the hallway and then behind him. The knot grows and twists in Nathan's core, and balling and relaxing a fist at his side, Nathan resolves to walk away from the voices' direction.

Giving up on the idea of finding alcohol, Nathan eventually settles on another can of coke. He lifts it to his lips as he, less confidently now, follows the community center's familiar veins back to the main room.

"Bad news guys," He starts, not lifting his gaze as he presses his shoulder into the metal door, "The arseholes got the booze under lock and key," he informs, stepping into the center of the room.

After a few moments of silence, Nathan sneers into the air before him, " _Fine_ , I get it. Let's get this cleaning over with, yeah?"

He's glancing to the corners of the room, noting the sound of his footfalls reverberating against the emptiness. The overhead lights are dark, casting the great room into an uncharacteristic shadow. Nathan's eyebrows furrow in concentration as his eyes strain against the new darkness, perking up with excitement as he sees a small, cat-shaped disruption in the light pouring in from the window.

"Hey!" He exclaims, the smile parting his features evident in his voice, "You came back!" As if the feline could understand, it closes the distance between itself and Nathan, rubbing against Nathan's jumpsuit leg. "Where'd you go? Find anything interesting?" Nathan's cooing, pulling his hand gently over the cat's forehead.

The cat mews its response and peels away from Nathan just as quickly as it came. As it paces to the community center's back rooms, Nathan turns his gaze upward to see the lights flicker back to life. Right as Nathan crooks his eyebrow to glance at the lights and the direction the cat had wandered off to, he hears Curtis exclaim, "Got it, guys!" from somewhere just out of view.

"You guys work fast!" Nathan calls after the voice, taking a few more steps into the empty room. "Does that mean we're done?"

"No!" Kelly's voice responds, from somewhere in the rafters, "We've got a bunch of your shite to get through!"

As if on cue, Nathan feels a soft lump crumple under his gait, and he lifts his foot to peer at the soft mound of one of his shirts. The next thing he knows, he's getting a thin fitted sheet to the face, and a collective grunt signals his thin mattress falling from the loft that had been his 'bedroom' above his head.

"Whoa!" Nathan calls up, the surprise in his voice raising it a couple of octaves, "Watch where you're throwing that!"

"Sorry," Simon says, peering over the railing.

"It's just the easiest way to get it down." Kelly fills in, tossing a pillowcase and a mismatched pair of socks to Nathan's feet.

"Plus," Alisha adds, standing next to Simon to pull a sharp gaze to Nathan, "I don't want to touch this filthy shit for longer than I have to. So come get your rubbish, yeah?"

* * *

Many of the things that Nathan added to the community center's landscape ended up in the dumpster. He'd slipped a couple of other items— shirts, shoes, a pair of socks— into the shelf of his locker, over his soiled jumpsuit. The rest, including his mobile phone, was shoved hastily into a pillowcase.

The walk back to his father's flat that evening was markedly warmer than it was in the morning, and the path revealed itself to Nathan more readily. By the time Nathan stands in the shadow of the high rise, he's got the pillowcase slung over his shoulder.

He keeps his gaze on the pavement as he fishes through his jeans pocket for the keyring his father had given him that morning. As the jagged edge of the key imprints itself on Nathan's palm, he shoots a glance over his shoulder when he hears a low disturbance, only to find nothing.

Scrunching his face once more against the glare of the evening light, Nathan enters the building and finds his way to the entrance of his father's flat, slipping in the key and fumbling with the lock for a moment before getting it open successfully.

"Good thing the Queen didn't keep you too long, I made dinner," Mike Young greets, without ever peering up from his newspaper, "Help yourself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hot take: imagine if jamie's power reversal pills just straight up killed nathan right there and then instead of allowing him to see the dead or whatever
> 
> i've also made a [nathan playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1mEeogPwC7MlZ0EVn0WoiP?si=xcBzCM3CRyKkrykqkJkzvg) if you want some mood music!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brought to you by the tesco metro in oxford that i constantly visited when i was studying abroad and the growing number of friends that i have roped into helping me with this fic, the majority of them having never seen misfits.

"I didn't know Poundland did weddings," Alisha mutters, entering the dim silence of the community centre’s main room, her eyes fluidly itemizing the additions to the dour space.

She scoffs at a flimsy-looking balloon arch that’s fixed loosely to the metal frame around the door, lifting a brightly painted finger to flick at it as the gang brings up the rear. 

“Yeah, well, it ain’t your wedding, so the decór doesn’t matter,” Curtis says, a smile in his voice as he paces ahead, fumbling with a plastic bag stuffed with rags. “Let’s just get this done, yeah?”

“Right,” Alisha says, a giggle running just below her words, her gum popping against her teeth as she grins back at Curtis, “yeah.”

Tasked with the broad objective of _‘just make sure it’s clean by tonight,’_ by a more-inattentive-than-usual probation worker, they scatter about the space, armed with rubber gloves, buckets of pungent cleaning liquid, and stained washcloths. 

Nathan flounces through the forest of stacked plastic furniture they’d organized in the days prior, scowling at scattered pastel decorations. Some are on the ground; others are tacked seemingly at random on the walls. Aside from a few laminated decorations that refract the windows' pale light, everything fades into a homogeneous backdrop that he easily ignores.

A sloshing bucket of steaming sanitizing liquid dangles loosely at his side, occasionally spattering hot, pungent liquid against the stained legs of his jumpsuit. He doesn’t notice it until the scratchy cloth is saturated, the liquid painfully searing the outermost layers of his skin. Squawking out, Nathan fumbles the bucket onto the ground, the steaming pool swelling to soak the chairs' bottoms and unguarded edges of discarded decorations.

A particular one, seeping up the liquid but remaining more or less structurally sound, catches his wandering eye, and he sloshes through the cooling pool over to it. Nathan's lip curls upward in a grimace as he sees his mother's and Jeremy's names scrawled in trite penmanship on a poster board welcome sign.

In a moment, he's weakly put his trainer on top of the thing, and he kicks it face-down under a nearby table, averting his eyes and pulling a hand through his hair. Slipping the other into his pocket, Nathan opts to ignore the mess and stalks his way back to the center of the room, where his friends have gathered.

Kelly is the first to grab Nathan's attention: she's peering down at a piece of paper from the ground and pulling a face that Nathan would usually avoid. But, as Nathan turns on his heel to retreat, Alisha captures him in her gaze, and he freezes where he stands.

"Open bar," Alisha recites into the silence, with a smile and a pop of her gum. It’s a leading remark, breaking the silence and earning a scowl from Kelly. Alisha giggles as she peels away from her to stand next to Curtis.

"Ya didn't say your mom was getting married," Kelly says, her lip curling in slight annoyance as she slings a dry washcloth over her shoulder to look pointedly at Nathan. 

“That’s because I didn’t know _either,_ ” Nathan insists, leering back at her, his hair bobbing as he leans forward to punctuate his point.

“And to the huge cock guy? You’re _kidding,_ ” Alisha says, cutting him off and leaning in to look at the invitation again, a smirk on her lips. _”_ I guess he must be _really_ good in bed, if she’s still with that exhibitionist freak.”

Nathan physically recoils, a grimace highlighting the expression lines on his face. Before he can respond, their attention shifts to another portion of the cardstock. Kelly’s got her finger on the thing, the annoyance on her face melting away to momentary confusion.

"That's a lot of people," she points out, squinting at the faded numbers penciled in next to entree selections. "Not even this many people showed up to your funeral." 

There’s a lull, and a different perplexed expression flashes across each member’s face, before they return, quizzically, back to Nathan.

"Well, I don't know that twat Jeremy's family!" Nathan reasons, shooting a wry glance in response. "They wouldn’t ‘ve come, _obviously_ ," Nathan gives the word a flourish, "but surely—"

"Even still," Alisha cuts him off with a hint of a snicker, peering back over to Kelly. “I think we’d have noticed if there were, like, a hundred people there.”

"How can you be so sure?" Nathan volleys, his weight shifting from leg to leg as he shoots an accusatory finger in her direction. "Your memory could be hazy from grief!"

"This guy got it all on video," Curtis says, throwing a thumb over his shoulder to point to Simon, who seems jarred by the acknowledgment. 

"You filmed it?" Nathan says, standing straighter now and whipping his gaze to Simon, "and didn't think to show me the tear-filled remembrance of my young life?"

"Well, after you came back, it—" Simon starts, but the thought is aborted in his throat as Nathan closes the distance between them, hooking his arm around Simon's shoulders and pressing his chest onto Simon’s back to loom over the back of his smaller frame.

“Then, on with it, Barry!" he demands, a grin splitting his features as he gestures over Simon's shoulders to his hands.

"N-Now?" Simon gulps, and Nathan can feel him shudder under the weight of his arm, and the already present smirk pulls wider across his elastic features.

He peels himself from Simon's back to mime Simon's usual camera movements, jutting his thumb upward to flick up an invisible screen. He closes an eye as he points the imaginary device in Simon's direction. "It's all on your mobile, yeah?"

Simon's features tense, and his eyes dart from Nathan to the ground. "I don't…" he starts, biting his bottom lip as his gaze returns, anxious and flighty, to Nathan. "I don't… I don't have it on me," is what he eventually settles on, although the husky, whispered excuse is paper-thin.

Despite Simon's weak insistence, Nathan's already pressed squarely against his back and is groping at where he knows the pockets of their community service jumpsuits are. When his hand catches on a rectangular bump and he feels Simon give an instinctual shudder under his palm, his features curve into a triumphant grin toward the rest of the group, who all instinctively look away.

“ _Bingo._ ”

Undeterred, he's quick to turn his attention back to the pocket, fishing out the mobile and hopping backward before Simon or anyone else can protest. Capturing his tongue between his teeth, Nathan holds the mobile between his pointer finger and thumb, brandishing it for the group before his gaze falls to the small screen.

Nathan makes a big show of flicking the screen to life, giddy as his free hand falls to his hip.

Simon remains planted a few feet from Nathan, his eyes darting pleadingly to the others for help, but his pleas remain unanswered, their gazes pulling to the ground. 

After a few moments of tense silence made longer by Nathan's occasional frustrated grunt, Simon relents and draws the phone back from Nathan's hands.

"It's… here," Simon's statement comes clipped, and Simon paces a few steps forward to close the distance between himself and Nathan. He leans in and takes back the device with a strength that shocks a chuckle out of Nathan, and his gaze is wary as he takes a moment of pause to search Nathan’s features. 

Abandoning the thought of receiving any pardon from Nathan, Simon turns his attention to expertly flicking through menus. Contrasting the uneven strength with which Simon had first retained the device, Nathan’s deft and eager grip takes back the phone before Simon even had a moment to process what was happening.

Left unoccupied, Simon’s lips part around murdered words of protest, his jaw clenching around nothing.

"Hope you got my good side, weird kid!" Nathan proclaims, shooting Simon a grin and a wink, the mobile settling horizontally in his grip.

An eruption of brightness from the pixelated screen draws Nathan’s gaze, and he turns his attention to it with an animated _hush_ and a finger drawn to his lip towards the group.

Simon's usual energetic camera work is subdued and static in the video, lingering on objects rather than movement. Simon's attention loiters first on a stained glass window on the far end of the chapel— Nathan's memory tells him that it should be bright, casting crimson across the empty pews. 

The limited color palette of the phone renders it a dull remnant of what it once was.

“Right,” Nathan starts with a taunting smile and a jeering side glance to Simon, “That’s enough wankin’ off to stained glass, I’m learning a bit too much about your tastes, Barry. Surely Jesus isn’t the fittest corpse here…” 

“ _It_ _was all just so… sudden,_ ” A woman’s voice rising from the speakers jars Nathan into silence, his features haunted by the ghost of his sardonic grin. She speaks from somewhere off-screen, her tone embarrassed even though it was clipped by the tinny mobile phone’s speakers, “ _We didn’t really have time to prepare…_ ”

Simon seems to notice the conversation then, and his camera slowly pans down the center aisle. There, a priest stands with his back to Simon’s camera, obscuring the other party of the conversation. He is wearing his full vestments, although he radiated less of the untouchable quality that they would suggest, even with his hand on a green ceremonial bible tucked into the crux of his arm.

Nathan sneers in contempt at the back of the priest’s cream-colored robe, his eyebrows knitting as the verbiage sinks into his thoughts and settles in the lines between them.

“ _So, if no one wants to speak, then…”_ The priest says, and his tone is even and business-like. It tapers off as he walks past the cameraman, without so much of a glance in Simon's direction.

The droning peal of the church organ drowns out the rest of the conversation, the camera left to focus on Louise, who’s turned into Jeremy’s shoulder, her hands covering her face while Jeremy holds her still. If they’re saying anything, it’s hushed and unimportant.

“Who let _him_ come?” Nathan derides, just barely biting back comments of Jeremy’s being a _psycho, rough-trade, gay, rapist werewolf—_ charges that Nathan hadn’t felt the compulsion to vocalize in weeks _._

“ _Simon, come sit down, yeah?_ ” Kelly’s voice is low and vaguely pleading, and there’s a shudder in the image as Simon is pulled into the front row with the rest of the group. 

The scene is darker now, showing the pulpit, wooden pews, and lines of worn hymnals. The camera seems lost, although its movements are uncharacteristically smooth as they land, eventually, on a coffin half-open. There, it lingers, although the camera could see little besides the smooth wooden exterior.

Nathan brings the phone closer as his eyebrows furrow, close enough that the image reduces to bright pixels of color rather than a composite image, in an attempt to see his corpse. Nathan gets a glimpse of his nose, the tip of a curl, but then the video freezes, and the screen flicks back to a selection menu.

Nathan's about to thumb down to the next video, but the mobile is taken back by Simon.

“That’s _all?_ ” Nathan asks, breathless.

“...Er, yeah,” Simon says, avoiding Nathan’s searing eye contact as he uses his palm to smooth down the front of his bangs, “That’s all.”

“Then where’s the _tears?_ The keening in _distress?”_ Nathan sputters, “I’ve seen _Inspector Morse,_ it’s supposed to be _better_ than that!”

“That’s a television programme about rich twats,” Alisha says, anxiously peering knowingly sideways to Kelly.

“The point is that I know how this shite is meant to go! A huge outpouring of tears, a parade of mourners, and all that!” Nathan proclaims, jabbing his finger downward as if emphasizing an obvious point.

“None of that happened in that programme,” Curtis remarks, a frown contorting his features.

“ _Whatever._ ” Nathan says, throwing his hands out to either side, “The point is,” he barrels on, an accusatory finger panning over the group, “people _cared_ when the sorry sap of a victim died. They showed up in spades!”

“What? Was the funeral not _good_ enough for ya?” Kelly asks, her voice rising with her gaze to Nathan.

“No, it _wasn’t,_ actually!” Nathan readily affirms, “Dying wasn’t even _worth_ it if that’s all I get!”

“I’m _sorry,_ then what _did_ you want, Nathan?” Kelly shoots back, choleric.

“ _I’m_ not supposed to know!” Nathan returns, his voice increasingly desperate, “Everyone _else_ is supposed to come up with something to show how much they _love_ me!”

“You’re being _ridiculous,_ ” Alisha says, her arms crossing over her chest. 

“Oh, am I?”

Nathan’s eyes flicker across the group, unable to read their faces. Frozen stiff in their theatrical protest, Nathan's arms falter and fall as the rest of the group collectively decides to walk away from the conversation.

“ _Fine!_ ” Nathan says, “It’s a good thing I’m _immortal,_ ” and he can see Simon flinch at his rising voice, but Nathan continues, desperately performing to the retreating figures of his friends, “so you lot have _plenty_ of time to make it up to me!”

Kelly’s shaking her head as she rounds the corner, and as Simon begins to follow, his cower gains a bit of a harsher edge, which Nathan meets with a mocking purse of his lips.

Predictably, they don’t respond further, leaving Nathan to stand silent, half-shadowed. He has half a mind to kick over the bucket beside him, but he doesn’t. Instead, he plunges his hand into it, fishing out his washcloth, wringing it out weakly.

He spares a glance over his shoulder, but finding no one there, he ambles back into the stacks of plastic furniture and pastel decor, haphazardly pulling the rag over each surface vaguely at arm’s height. He wanders about, barely noticing when the white sunlight morphs to an indirect amber, softer against even the laminated kitsch.

* * *

When Nathan returns to his father’s apartment that evening, he thinks he may as well have been floating.

The sun, typically harsh and clarifying, throws a fuzzy, warm haze over the room, and the single coherent thought Nathan has is that he can’t feel his fingers.

After using the toilet, Nathan automatically slogs to his bed, sitting on the edge and allowing his posture to crumble. Kicking back from knocking off his trainers, his foot connects with the soft lump that’s his bag of clothes, shoved unceremoniously under his bed. He contemplates, momentarily, digging through it to change, but decides against it just a second later.

His arms fall limply between his legs, and he takes the moment to allow his eyes to traverse the room. It lacked the familiarity of his mother’s house or the community centre, as well as the quick succor of Kelly’s apartment— and Nathan wouldn’t call it _sterile_ in its foreignness, it was heavy with the thick idea of being _borrowed,_ but some instinct still told Nathan he ought to not disturb it.

To his chagrin, Nathan realizes he’s been corralled into another living situation impressed on him by forces that assumed, perhaps rightly so, that he hadn’t a mind to come up with a viable alternative.

Nathan glowers into the air, his attention pulling to the refrigerator in the kitchen and the cardboard stacked haphazardly behind it. After a moment’s contemplation, he pulls himself upright, content for now to resolve the loose thoughts in the bubbles of a beer can.

As Nathan passes the television set in the middle of the room, a dynamic break in the static sunbeam flung across the wood panelled far wall catches his attention. He turns his gaze toward it, and against the shimmering reflection of the artificial lake, Nathan can make out the lithe silhouette of a cat perched on the balcony’s bannister.

Nathan’s eyebrows crease, and a curious thought questioning how a cat would have scaled a couple of storeys pulls him closer to the glassed in doors. He’s arrived at the threshold just in time to see the silhouette take a moment’s pause to look back at Nathan, before disappearing over the edge.

Nathan’s taken aback for a moment, and he stands on his tiptoes in an attempt to follow its trajectory, but coming up predictably empty, his mind drifts back to where Nathan remembers the beer. He turns back to the fridge, only for the single stream of thought to be interrupted by the _clink_ of a key settling into the lock mechanism of the door. 

Remembering the past impression of his father’s disparaging look and imagining a new one, Nathan walks past the refrigerator, settling in the chair at the table opposite it. As he hears the door open and his father begin to rustle around, he doesn’t deign, yet, to glance in his direction. 

He hears Mike Young shuffle through the door, clicking the door’s lock back into place, heavy footsteps dragging across the smooth floor to what Nathan surmises is a linen closet.

"It's so empty in here," Nathan’s musing, his cheek sinking into his palm, propped up by his elbow on the dining table. When he senses his father’s attention, he becomes more animated, "You haven't stolen some poor sap's apartment have you? There's no way you could afford this," He jeers, flicking his wandering eyes to his father. "What do you do again?"

Mike Young frowns, his incredulous gaze probing his son’s features. Mike’s jaw tenses around barely bitten back retorts, and he’s wringing his hands around themselves when he eventually answers.

“Manufacturing,” He says simply, tacking on, “Production management.” 

Nathan absorbs this, his gaze returning to the glass doors leading out to the balcony. He’s squinting against the afternoon light, a taut frown on his lips, though his features lose their defiant edge.

“How’s that?” Nathan tries, though his tongue rasps like leather in his mouth.

Mike shrugs, his own eyes following the direction of his son’s. “It’s work.”

Nathan’s fingertips rake against the smooth surface of the table, and his eyes follow. Father and son lapse back into silence; the father closes the closet and comes to the kitchen to rummage through a medicine cabinet, the son shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“By the way,” Nathan starts, and after a low hum of acknowledgement from his father, continues, “D’ya make a habit of not having proper food at home?”

Nathan’s slings an arm over the backside of his chair. “I get that you’re not _used_ to having a family ’n all that, but—”

“Takeaway is easier,” Mike curtly says. The curling of his lip betrays that he’s never had to vocally give that answer.

Nathan huffs out a snicker, his hair bobbing slightly as he leans forward, pointing to the oven.

“Right, that may work for _you,_ but I’m a growing boy!” Nathan haughtily says, gesturing down to himself and crossing an arm over the table and sneering out the last bit, “I’d be happy to give it a lash, cooking, I mean. It can’t be _that_ hard, Mom used to—”

Mike takes in a sharp inhale, turning fully away from his son for a moment. The son, for his part, doesn’t finish the thought, but keeps his eyes fixed.

“But, you see, I don’t have any money of my own, so—” Nathan starts, and his father shoots him an inquisitive glance.

“I thought your mother gave…”

“Gone,” Nathan informs, “...Or expired, depending on what you mean.”

Mike nods in apprehension, resting his thumb and pointer finger on the crux of his nose. The next moment, he’s shuffling through the lower drawers and eventually withdraws a writing pad and a pen. He sets them on the table, sitting across from Nathan, and begins scribbling, occasionally glancing up to Nathan’s watchful stare.

“Now, you’re only going to get _necessities,_ ” Mike instructs, tapping the ballpoint pen on the paper at the end of his list. “And you’re going to get a receipt.”

“What, don’t you _trust_ me?”

Mike shoots Nathan a glare of warning, and Nathan pulls a taunting face back, but Mike fishes through his pockets for his wallet without granting Nathan another word. He withdraws a plastic card, and pushes it on the paper to Nathan, who slides it off the table, and peers closely at Mike’s scrawls.

“Don’t be too long, I’m feeling quite peckish.” Mike dismisses, standing up to walk to the washroom.

“Yeah, yeah,” Nathan mumbles back, taking the card and the list in his hand as he scoops up his jacket from where he’d discarded it on his bed.

* * *

A sharp, mechanical chime sounds over Nathan’s head as he shoulders open the door of the nearest grocery store. He peers up to a speaker, and returning, his eyes catch on the absent gaze to the tired cashier that leers in his direction.

Nathan notices the unlit cigarette that’s hanging loosely in the corner of his lips, and he withdraws it, shooting him a closed-lipped smile and terse wave as he shoves the fag unceremoniously back into his pocket. The cashier glances back incredulously, and Nathan’s eyebrows crease in a scoff. 

He turns to the rest of the store, returning his hands to his jacket pocket, hiking it up to his lower back.

Nathan passes the sections he's used to quickly; newsstands of bright tabloids, an over-stocked shelf of half-wilted flowers, ready-to-eat three-pound meal deals, and the all-too-familiar aisles of cheap, generic brand alcohol. Once passed them, Nathan can undoubtedly say that he’s rarely gone past to the more ‘domestic’ portion of the grocery.

Preoccupied in his pocket, his hand grasps at the flimsy paper grocery list and the plastic of his father’s credit card.

After strolling past the familiar bits, Nathan lingers near the escalator toward the back of the store with his hand atop a stack of plastic baskets, his back catching the chilly breeze wafting from the produce section. His eyes are straining to read the directory sign suspended from the ceiling when he sees a figure begin to approach.

Nathan doesn’t give it a second thought until it lingers for a moment to stare at his profile. 

“…Nathan?” The figure asks from behind him, causing Nathan’s gaze to snap upward. Nathan’s barely given a chance to take in the guy’s features before they split into a toothy grin punctuated by a wild wave, “Nathan! I’ve not seen ya in ages, how’re ya?”

Nathan staggers a bit, his face naturally falling into a hollow, lopsided half-grin as he scans the guy’s face for a hint of familiarity. He comes up empty.

“Aye,” Nathan says, by way of greeting, his voice pitching up a couple of octaves as he drawls out the last syllable, “I’ve been just _grand!_ ” He shoots the guy a grin, building up steam, “How’s the bird? The herpes—?“

Thankfully, the other guy doesn’t seem particularly keen on grilling Nathan and barrels on: “Fantastic, business has been booming, yeah, had a bit of a scare with the Feds a bit ago, the pigs ’n all that, but it was easy enough to…” 

The smile fades from Nathan’s features as the guy drones on. Nathan recognizes him as one of a gaggle of local hookups he’d occasionally hit up looking for a deal. However, he does remain anonymous enough to remain nameless, not matching any that flick through his head. 

The thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth, which begins to translate onto his face. Thankfully, he’s pulled from his thoughts by the questioning lilt in the guy’s voice.

“…I heard from the guys that you got done in for community service,” he’s saying, with a smugness to which Nathan has to withhold an obvious sneer, “How’s that? I’ve heard they get right cunts to watch over—“

Cut off by the bright bling of a ringtone, the guy fishes in his pocket for a mobile. He withdraws it and offers a curt “‘ello,” of greeting into the microphone, his eyebrows creasing in concentration.

Nathan watches the guy tense at whatever information comes from the other end, rubbing an antsy hand rub at the corner of a plastic bag in his pocket. He pulls it free and examines the contents, and Nathan swears he sees the guy’s life flash before his eyes.

“You… You _what?_ ” He sneers into the receiver, a hint of a Northern accent slipping through and rounding out the ‘a’ in what, “No, I got that… Right, yes… Rudy, are you _mad?_ ”

He’s turning away from Nathan now, his voice lowering to a hiss, obviously affected by whatever this ‘Rudy’ person was saying on the other end.

Nathan’s hands slide into his pockets as he watches the scene unfold before him. Abandoning the endeavor to place a name to the dealer’s face, Nathan’s shuffling through the various characters he’s seen in rotation on ratty couches in hazes of dense, green-tinged smoke. This guy and the mysterious Rudy slot in smoothly, though their imagined visages and personalities are as generic and non-descript as ever.

Suddenly, the generic commercial decor around him that he’d ignored, especially a poster depicting a happy mother and her daughter, plastered above the escalator, seemed very interesting.

After a few minutes of bickering, compounded by the guy’s instance of turning further out of Nathan’s eye line with each passing moment, Nathan raises a hand in a dismissive wave. Scarcely giving Nathan a nod of acknowledgment, the guy’s shuffling past Nathan and blowing past a cashier that hardly lifts an eye in his direction. 

Nathan sees the guy break into a sprint right as his trainers hit the pavement, his head bobbing over the lower shelves toward the tills. The mobile is still pressed squarely to the side of his face.

Nathan watches until the guy’s out of eyesight, his lips pursing as he leans forward. The droning din of the store and stale pop music invades Nathan’s senses as he peers down to the plastic shopping baskets, and he picks one up, settling it in the crux of his arm as he turns his attention back to the task at hand.

Nathan feels every humming hiccup of the escalator as he rides it down, and soon he comes face-to-face with a wall of boxed teas and digestive biscuits, and he’s left to contemplate the bright colors and differing packaging. 

He pulls out the now-crumpled list his father had scribbled and frowns down at the item scrawled at the top: tea.

Eventually, Nathan’s stood in front of the shelf with a package of tea in each hand. He’s glancing between them, one a tightly bound blue plastic container, the other a familiar white and green box. He pretends to compare the weights in his hands, his eyebrows scrunching as they pull back to the shelf in front of him.

“Mr. Nathan Young,” an abrupt chime comes from right beside him, and Nathan is taken aback by the breathless, sing-song reverence that his name seems to carry. He turns to see an older lady, plump and standing at about his shoulder height. “Oh, how the years go by! How long has it been since I’ve had you in my class?”

Nathan finds himself automatically shrugging, his features crumpling as another grin parts them. “Who knows? It’s been so long!” His voice is pitching up again, his eyes betraying the desperation and lack of recognition.

But, with her eyes shut in crow feet and rosiness flushing across her cheeks, his old schoolteacher presses on.

“You were such a pleasure!” She proclaims, and Nathan even finds himself a little bashful, “Always so strong-willed, always sticking up for other students! Although, you did always have trouble focusing on assignments… and were quite rowdy, but smart nonetheless, and _destined for great things_.” She says this with an air of determination, and she’s peering through her permed bangs at Nathan, a resolute finger jabbing toward his chest.

That strikes a chord in Nathan, and he’s given up on the tea selection, opting instead to toss both varieties into the basket. He’s about to push by the woman’s smaller frame, too, with a smile and a ‘well, it was nice seeing you, you have a good day, now!’ but something compels him to remain planted.

“How’re you? What are you doing nowadays?” She asks, her voice small yet commanding Nathan’s attention. Nathan notices her day-worn lipstick and smudged blueish eyeliner and tries not to quail too far. “How’s your mother?”

“Oh, you know,” Nathan tries, suppressing a grimace, “same-old, same-old…”

Nathan’s voice trails off, but this seems like a satisfactory answer, or is at least is taken as one. She hums in response— a gravely, low sound— contrasting with the airy grin that pulls her lips.

“Well, send Louise my regards.”

“I’ll do that,” Nathan resolves, offering her a brittle grin and a nod.

“Have a good day, Nathan!” She seems intent on having the last word, and Nathan is more than happy to grant her that.

Nathan ducks into the nearest aisle, not noticing when the box of tea's corner crumples as it hits the basket. Frowning and shaking his head in an attempt to rid his stomach of the heavy feeling that settled there, Nathan flicks the collar of his jacket up and holds his head a little lower in its socket.

His eyes scan the items that line both sides of the aisle, and he passively notices that he’s passing rows of baking goods and spices. He perks up a little when the cooking supplies' simple color scheme gives way for the bright neon packaging of the sweets section.

When a larger fixture of loose pick and mix replaces the shelves themselves, Nathan takes a long pause and only then snaps out of his haze. Hands in his pockets, he finds his mouth dry and his gaze flicking up and down the aisle around him.

Nathan doesn’t feel his hands bucking against the restraints of his pockets yet, nor does he find himself particularly craving any of the sweets. However, as his face contorts to moue at the fitment, peering up at the colorful logo, he finds himself compelled to reach into the plastic bins anyway.

“Oh…” Nathan hears a coo from his side, and he’s already shuddering against the feeling of déjà vu, “ _You!_ ” The voice finishes, seemingly unsure but still markedly closer to Nathan.

Nathan lifts a hand to mess with a curl that has fallen into his vision to glance behind him coyly. When he comes to the disagreeable realization that there was no one there, he turns back to the voice, his greeting smile as wide as it is brittle.

“I haven’t seen you in so long! How big you’ve gotten!” She chimes and Nathan catches the lilt of an Irish accent.

He doesn’t even get a word out before a pair of talon-like red-manicured fingers seizes the skin of his cheek, and soon Nathan can feel the waxy residue of lipstick on his skin, which he is quick to wipe off with the back of his hand. 

“It must have been one of the sister’s birthdays, or was it a cousin’s graduation…? Could it have been Nan’s funeral…?”

Nathan can tell by the glassy, far-off look in her eyes that this woman would gladly run through every mid-sized family gathering they’ve had in Nathan’s lifetime to place his face. 

“Louise,” The woman’s saying, and the change in tone snaps Nathan back into the conversation, “she had said something about something happening to her son.” A flicker of realization flashes across her eyes, and her face parts in a smile.

“Nathan! That’s his name,” She finishes, looking proud of herself. “Unsure of what happened there, but then I heard about the wedding! Good for her,” She’s musing, “I never liked that other guy, Mike, was it? She’s such a nice lady… She didn’t deserve…” She shakes her head mournfully, and her gaze flicks back to Nathan as if she’d just remembered he was there.

“You know, you kind of remind me of him,” She says, excitedly pointing.

“Oh, do I?” Nathan leads, playing amused.

She gestures to her hair, scuffing an imaginary style around, “It’s the hair.”

“Must run in the family!”

The lady beams back at him, nodding, and Nathan meets it with a wavering grin as she pulls him into a firm hug, pinning his arms to his sides.

“I’ll see you soon, dearie.” The woman resolves, and there’s another wrinkled finger pointed in his direction, “Tell your family I said ‘hello,’...” She’s finishing, shuffling past Nathan and peering toward the bags of sweets.

Nathan lifts a hand in a parting wave, eyebrows narrowing as he hears her mutter to the shelves, “I must remember to ring Louise to tell her Richard and I are coming…” 

The thought plasters a scowl on Nathan’s features, and he fishes in his pocket for the now-crumpled list, peering down at it. Suddenly, it feels impossibly long, and Nathan realizes why he’s never bothered to shoulder this particular burden. He internalizes what he can of it, and shoves it back in his pocket, and begins to pace the aisles, sometimes twice over, until the basket starts to be an uncomfortable weight on his arm.

When he’s more or less satisfied with the spoils, Nathan finds himself scanning over the list once more as he stands at an end cap. Someone wordlessly reaches past him to secure one of the products, and as they pull it past his sight, he notices it’s canned cat food.

For a few moments, after the other customer has passed, Nathan lingers before picking up a box at random to set it delicately in his basket.

With the new addition, the basket is digging unbearably into his forearm.

* * *

Nathan makes sure his footfalls are small when he enters the apartment again, half expecting something to be lurking in the corners and shadows in-between the doors and walls. Despite being functionally the same, the lonely quality of the empty flat and the community centre prick Nathan differently; Nathan supposed the difference is that he’s not seen a ghost in the community centre as of yet.

Nathan doesn’t bother with the light switch on the wall, despite the encroaching twilight, dropping the shopping bags next to the lower cabinets that lined the kitchen. He plucks the receipt from the pack and sets it on the table, and returns to frown at the spoils. Somewhere between the toiletry and sweets aisle, Nathan realized that he hadn’t a clue where to even begin with making a proper meal, so the bags were lighter and fewer than he’d anticipated.

He leans down to pick up the lightest item that’s placed on the top, an airy bag of crisps, fluttering it in his hand as he begins to scour the upper cabinets for an appropriate placement.

After the third or fourth time opening an otherwise filled cabinet of dishes or spices, a thought flickers through his mind to shove the shit wherever it fits. And he begins to when behind him, a husky voice clears his throat. Nathan, whose open palms are pressing up against the bag, damming an inevitable avalanche of nonperishables, flicks his gaze to follow, only to feel the disturbance of everything falling on the counter behind him.

Nathan pulls a scowl, but his hands accept their defeat and drop to his sides, and his gaze pulls from Mike Young’s feet to his piqued expression. On the way, Nathan notices something held loosely in his father’s hand, his thumb fidgeting with a soft edge. In place of a leading question, Nathan quirks an eyebrow in his direction, and Mike seems to steel himself.

“Your mother… she wanted me to give this to you,” his father informs, one hand casually at his hip and the other extending a pulpy envelope in Nathan’s direction.

“What, did you wank off on it before you decided to give it to me?” Nathan sneers, grimacing at the sorry offering.

But, Nathan accepts it with two fingers from the crispest edge he can find, peering down at a smudged representation of his name penned on the paper in blue ink. He flicks it in his wrist, recoiling at the liquid that spatters from the smooth cardstock.

Running his thumb underneath the notch, Nathan hesitates when he sees a gold-trimmed corner. Biting back the knot that’s forming in his stomach, Nathan withdraws the contents in a single motion, frowning at the familiar trite penmanship: You’re Invited!

“…When did you get this?” Nathan breathes, leering through his curls at his father.

“I…” His father is still neglecting to make eye contact but stretches his arms out in a flimsy shrug. “I don’t know.” He says at first, before shaking his head and running a hand through his hairline, “She— Louise— gave it to me when she approached me about asking you to live here.” He corrects, his arms falling limp.

Nathan absorbs this, nodding.

For once, he finds himself speechless, caught somewhere between the childishly simple emotions of anger and confusion. The soggy envelope slides from the smooth cardstock of the invitation onto the floor. Nathan reads past the names, the date, and _Wertham Community Centre, City of Wertham, London_ sprawled in neat typography.

“Well, cheers to them,” Nathan says, knowing his nonchalance is paper-thin, and he’s pocketing the paper, content with ending the conversation there.

“I’m happy for her,” Mike says into the silence, drawing a glance from Nathan. “I’ve never met this Jeremy bloke,” He continues, turning his words more pointedly to his son, and Nathan’s already suspicious of his father’s trajectory. “What’s he like, you lived with him for a time, yeah?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Nathan answers, and a flicker of darkness passes over his face. He swallows a lump in his throat, reminded of the promises he’d given his mother by the clotheslines, “...but Mom seems happy.”

“Does she, now?” Mike’s voice is wistful as his attention floats off from Nathan’s person. 

“Is there something else you were looking to get out of giving this to me?” Nathan prods, his hand settling on his hip as his posture lulls forward slightly to his father.

Mike Young seems jarred by the question, and Nathan’s frown settles deeper as he watches his father show a face that Nathan can’t place but knows is more emotional and undoubtedly more sincere than he’s ever looked for him or his brother.

His father settles on leaning against the counter, seemingly lost with what to do with his body, but knowing well enough not to appear as a threat to his son.

“I didn’t get one.” He admits, slowly, calculated. His eyes, matching Nathan’s color but sunken further, meet his son, and whatever words he wanted to say die on his tongue. “And I just thought… I wanted to be there for your mother, I loved her, you know.”

Nathan keeps his eyes fixed on his father, looking to discern between falsities and the truth. Quickly, Nathan figures he’s not adept enough in this topic to tell and frowns. “Then, assuming that is the case, what good would being there do?”

Mike Young takes in a sharp breath in, staunchly avoiding eye contact with his son, “I just want to show her that it’s possible,” He starts, and he looks as if he’s about to shake off the rest of the words as banter, but continues regardless, “to recover, and be happy, as a family.”

“You think it’s that easy?” Nathan taunts, “After all you’ve—”

“That’s not what I mean, Nathan.” His father insists, his face contorting in frustration as he searches for the right words, “I just… I just don’t think they way we— both of us— left it with her. She can be happier if we get the chance to resolve things.”

“Hey, _leave me out of this._ ” Nathan interjects, jabbing a finger in his father’s direction, “And try speaking for yourself, yeah?”

Reveling in the apparent role-reversal and taking the conceit of having his father grovel at his all-powerful feet, Nathan stands a little straighter, a bit of confidence returning to his features.

“Just answer the question: what do you want me to do about that?” Nathan asks, building back up his unbothered charade of confidence.

“You know what,” Mike says, crossing his arms over his chest, as he uses the sole of his shoe to push off the counter, “Don’t bother, Nathan. It’s nothing.”

A grin peels across Nathan’s features as his father tramps by him, and twisting on the balls of his feet, Nathan leers to the slowly retreating figure of his father, “So let me just… get this straight. You mean to tell me,” He starts, gaining speed now, “My cheating father wants to go to his ex-wife’s— the one he cheated on— wedding? That’s a laugh! A right knee slapper, truly!”

With each emphasized word, Nathan’s grin grows broader and more wicked. He notices the shudder in his father’s shoulders as he continues with his tirade, “And me, his social-reject son, is his only hope!”

“ _Forget it,_ Nathan!” His father hisses, momentarily harnessing the anger that Nathan has gone a while without encountering. And although it startles a chuckle out of Nathan, it fades just as soon as it comes, and soon, he’s giving Nathan a dismissive wave as he stops at the entrance to his bedroom. “Do whatever you want with it, I don’t care anymore.”

Nathan’s upper lip curls upward, and he bobs with apparent satisfaction and lulls forward to extend a mockingly gentle hand to Mike’s back, deigning to bow and pardon his father. “Fine.” He says though Nathan isn’t sure he could even place the emotions behind his words, “You can be my plus one.”

Mike Young absorbs this, though the only indication that he did was a slight nod of his head. He doesn’t turn to face Nathan, and after a glance at Nathan’s bed, he opens the door to his room and disappears into it.

“I’m taking that as a yes, I imagine?” Nathan calls to the closed door, leaning onto the tips of his toes and not particularly expecting an answer, “You’re shelling out for the gift, then!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hot take: i was scrolling through tiktok the other day, and i saw one of a nice looking woman explaining that when corpses are prepared for funerals, their asses are stuffed with a butt plug or, more commonly, as someone duetted to inform, cotton. all i'm saying is that this information made nathan's coffin wank a lot weirder.
> 
> as always, thank you so much for reading! comments and feedback are always appreciated, but i am truly just happy that you're here!


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